Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  Her rooms were empty when she entered, Jean obviously gone on some errand; not that Marianne cared. Right now, she wanted nothing more than quiet and solitude to think over the astonishing conversation she’d just had with Alexander. He’d obviously thought the worst of her, which was truly disheartening. But then, if she really had broken his heart all those years ago, she supposed he had a right to feel angry. The most surprising thing, Marianne mused as she curled up in the comfortable chair by the fire, kicked off her slippers, and tucked her feet under her, was Alexander’s evident fury when I told him of my ill-treatment at Creighton’s hands. It’s almost as though he still had feelings for me. She had more than half-expected him not to believe her, to accuse her of making it up. Yet he had listened without interruption, and shown a deepening expression of commingled horror and rage. He really had believed her.

  Marianne could not quite comprehend what on earth had made her tell Alexander so much. She had never spoken the whole sordid truth of her marriage to anyone, had never planned to do so. But when she’d discovered he’d thought she had married Creighton willingly, the words had just exploded out of her, and once she started she could not seem to stop until she had told him the worst of it, though not all—that would have taken days to tell, and she did not care to dwell on all she had suffered. Now she felt curiously light, as though by sharing the truth with ALexander she had purged a dark weight from herself.

  Knowing Alexander condemned Creighton’s actions was pleasing, too, even if his suggestion she should marry again was laughable. Men who showed a kindly face to the outside world could be monsters behind closed doors. Creighton had publicly played a devoted husband who enjoyed showering his beautiful young wife with gifts, after all. How many ladies had expressed their envy, declared their wishes their husbands would be so generous?

  Shuddering at the memory of the price she had paid for Creighton’s generosity, Marianne’s attention was caught by the sound of hooves on the avenue’s gravel-strewn path. Peering from her window, she saw a plain dark coach rolling towards the house, drawn by four horses, unmatched in colour but sturdy-looking. Wondering if she should go down to join Ellen and the others to greet new arrivals, she frowned curiously as the coach did not pull up at the front door but rolled around the side of the house beyond her view. Perhaps some servants arriving ahead of their employers, she finally guessed, and returned to her own musings.

  Alexander’s offer of help if she should ever require it had been most unexpected, but not unwelcome. Indeed, she honestly believed he meant it - and considering the uncertainty of her future, it was very possible she might one day need to ask for his aid in some manner. She would never ask for financial assistance, of course, but as a marquis there were many things he could accomplish with a mere snap of his fingers which would be utterly impossible for her to achieve.

  Hasty footsteps outside her room made her look up, and then the door opened.

  “Oh, my lady!” Startled, Jean dropped a curtsey. “I do beg your pardon; I thought you were downstairs with the other ladies!”

  “It’s quite all right, Jean. I just wanted a little solitude, that’s all. No, no, it’s fine; do come on in.” Slipping her feet from under her, Marianne rose.

  “It’s just that your things have arrived, my lady!” Jean exclaimed. “All the way from Cumbria!”

  “Oh!” Startled, Marianne watched as Jean moved aside to let a small procession of footmen enter the room, carrying an apparently unending stream of trunks and packages. “Did they bring my whole wardrobe?” she asked, startled.

  “M’lord earl sent his steward with instructions that anything which belonged to you must be packed,” one of the footmen said with a bow in her direction. “Sent all Lady Havers’ trunks for them to be packed in, too.”

  “Oh, how very kind!” It would have been of no consequence to Thomas, she knew, but it made all the difference to her to have all her own gowns and belongings. Two more maids arrived to help Jean unpack as the footmen filed out. Marianne joined her maids, exclaiming with pleasure as the trunks were thrown open to reveal silks and satins in every colour of the rainbow.

  “There’s a letter in this one, m’lady,” one of the maids said, holding out a folded paper.

  Marianne accepted it, moving out of the way as the maids continued unpacking efficiently. Aunt Marianne was written on the outside in a neat, precise hand, and she smiled as she returned to her chair to open it. Either Diana or Clarissa, she guessed, had written the note.

  Dear Aunt Marianne, I kept the two dresses you gave tome, and Clarissa entirely filled her work box with ribbons and lace, but we helped the maids pack everything else from your wardrobe. Papa did not want to open his strongbox to hand over the jewels the previous Earl bought you, but Lord Havers’ steward was quite insistent. We hope you are well and enjoying your stay with your friends and anticipate eagerly seeing you in London in the New Year, as Mama and Papa are now quite resigned the whole family must go. With love, Diana.

  A knock on the door startled Marianne, and Jean left the unpacking to scurry over and open it. “M’lord Havers for you, my lady,” she advised Marianne.

  “Thank you.” Tucking the note into her pocket, Marianne pushed her feet into her slippers and went to the door.

  “My lady.” Thomas tipped his head respectfully. “I wonder if you would grant me a few minutes of your time, in my study perhaps?”

  “Certainly.” Nodding to Jean to continue her work, Marianne left her room and fell into step beside Thomas. He offered his arm gallantly, and she accepted with a smile.

  “Jean is taking care of you to your satisfaction, I hope?” he enquired.

  “She is by far the most obliging maid I have ever had,” Marianne said honestly, “and I would be delighted to write her an excellent reference at any time in the future, should she require one.”

  “I think she was rather hoping you might offer her a permanent post in your service, actually,” Thomas remarked.

  “I only wish I could. Without a fixed income, though, I fear I could not guarantee her long-term employment, and it would be quite unfair to Jean.”

  “As to that,” Thomas said as they turned to descend the stairs together, “I have some ideas which could provide quite a nice little income for you, with a small initial investment.”

  “Yet I have no money to invest, Thomas!” She cast a despairing look up at him. “Have you forgotten already how I arrived on your doorstep? Surely not, since your men have just returned from collecting the belongings I was unable to bring with me, for which I cannot thank you enough!”

  Thomas made a negating gesture. “Do not think on it. You befriended Ellen in London when she was a wallflower, and I can never sufficiently express to you my gratitude for that kindness.”

  “I have never been more glad of the impulse which drove me to speak to her that night,” Marianne insisted, “for I have found the sister I always wished I had.”

  “She says the same of you, and I consider you my own sister as well,” Thomas said, “which is why I am happy to perform any service within my power.”

  They had arrived at the study, and Thomas opened the door to usher Marianne inside. A large wooden box was sitting in the middle of the desk, a sheaf of paper beside it.

  “Please.” Thomas showed Marianne to a chair, and she sat down, looking curiously at Thomas as he gathered the papers up. “Apparently, your late husband kept records of all the jewellery pieces he purchased for you.”

  “Well, yes, but I understood they were all estate property and had now passed to the new Lady Creighton,” Marianne said, startled.

  “Had he recorded the purchases differently, perhaps they might have, but when his solicitors visited the bank while probating the estate, the jewels were each stored with the purchase receipts, copies of which you see here.” Thomas offered her the sheaf of papers. “Each of them has a handwritten note at the bottom which reads, ‘Purchased for Marianne’.”

  Even
the sight of her former husband’s handwriting, large and spiky, the pen almost stabbing through the page, sent a shiver down Marianne’s spine. She glanced only at the top sheet before asking, “I don’t understand what that means, I’m sorry. Surely if they were purchased with Creighton money, they still belong to the estate?”

  “Under the law, they belong to you. I suspected such was the case; on the last occasion I spoke with the former Earl, he showed me a pearl brooch he had ordered for you, and I saw the receipt with that exact note on it. When I wrote to the current Earl requesting he send your belongings back with my men, I noted it would be simpler for him to send the jewels with my steward rather than me having to contact his solicitors to request their return on your behalf.”

  She remembered that pearl brooch. Creighton had given it to her the day before Thomas and Ellen’s wedding and all but commanded her to wear it. An ugly, gaudy thing guaranteed to draw the eye, she had done her best to conceal it by pinning it at her waist rather than to her bosom. She half-thought it had been Creighton’s anger over her defiance, small as it had been, which had led to his fatal apoplexy, though it could have been any number of small transgressions on her part. She’d been enjoying herself that day, after all.

  “I don’t want it,” she said instinctively as Thomas handed her a small iron key and nodded towards the chest.

  “The brooch?”

  “Any of it.” Putting the key down on the desk, Marianne shook her head. “This is the only jewellery I have ever cared to wear.” She reached to her throat, where a simple silver cross hung on a fine chain. “It was my mother’s, the only thing I have left of her. My father sold her other jewels to fund his gambling, but this wasn’t worth enough for him to bother with. Creighton never permitted me to wear it; now that I have the choice, I would as soon not wear anything else.”

  “Quite understandable,” Thomas said kindly. “In which case, why not consider selling them? Some of these pieces are worth a considerable sum, you know.”

  “They are?” Marianne had never thought on it. Creighton had never permitted her to see bills or receipts for anything; her accounts were all sent directly to him.

  “Certainly according to these. Three hundred and seventy-five pounds for a ruby necklace and ear bobs, for example.”

  Marianne frowned. “A ruby necklace? I never had a ruby necklace.”

  “Purchased from Garrard’s a few days before his passing. It’s possible he never got the chance to present it to you.” Picking up the key she had rejected, Thomas opened the box, checked a number on one of the papers, and took out a flat jewel case with a number written in chalk on the lid.

  “Ugh,” Marianne grumbled when Thomas opened the box. The necklace was gaudy in the extreme, the ear bobs heavy-looking. “I would have hated to wear that.”

  “Well, if I were going to spend several hundred pounds at Garrard’s, I don’t think that’s what I’d have chosen,” Thomas said diplomatically.

  Reaching out to close the box, Marianne shook her head. “Even if he had better taste, I should still not wish to wear jewels he chose for me. At least I was permitted to choose my own gowns, even if they always had to be in the first stare of fashion. These... were a demonstration of his power over me, nothing more. I don’t want them.”

  “So let us arrange to sell them,” Thomas said practically. “If we are able to achieve prices even half what Creighton paid, you will have a nice little nest egg. Look on it as a proper widow’s jointure, if you will.”

  “I shall indeed,” she decided, pleased at the notion of disposing of the jewels and gaining a measure of financial independence at the same time. “Would you assist me with the sale, Thomas? I would not know where to begin.”

  “Neither do I, but I will investigate on your behalf how to achieve the best prices, I promise you.”

  “Perhaps Lord Glenkellie might assist?” she offered tentatively, knowing Alexander knew far more people in London than Thomas.

  Thomas gave her a curious look. “I was under the impression you and Glenkellie weren’t on the best of terms,” he said cautiously.

  “A misunderstanding,” Marianne prevaricated, “and one which is now in the past. I believe he would be amenable to providing some contacts, at least.”

  “Then I shall ask his assistance. In the meantime, would you like me to have the box placed in your room?”

  “No,” she said immediately. “Just... lock it up somewhere safe, if you please.”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  She blessed Thomas for not asking any more questions. He had a very good idea how miserable her marriage had been, she suspected, though she had shared far fewer details with him and Ellen than with Alexander.

  Instead, he only replaced the ruby necklace in the box, locked it up again, and handed her a single sheet of paper, saying that was the complete inventory of the box’s contents. Written by his steward, it had been countersigned by Arthur, certifying all the jewels belonged to her, Marianne, and were not the property of the Creighton estate. There were far more than she’d realised, and the total at the bottom of the sheet made her eyes pop. Thomas was quite right; if they were able to achieve prices even half the new sale value of the jewels, financial independence truly would be within her grasp.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The jewels could be the answer to my money problems, Marianne thought as she folded the paper and put it in her pocket alongside Diana’s note. Climbing the stairs to return to her room, she mused on the possibilities. She would be able to offer Jean a position. She could buy a cottage somewhere for the two of them, but retiring to a country cottage didn’t appeal. Better to invest the money, with Thomas’ advice, and stick with her original plan of spending most of the year staying with friends. At least she would be able to pay her own way now without being entirely dependent on the generosity of others, which was a huge relief.

  “My lady.” Jean turned to her, face aglow, when Marianne re-entered her room. “I have never seen such gowns!”

  The maid was holding a gown in her hands, one Marianne vaguely recalled ordering and not yet wearing. Made of a dark emerald silk, it had delicate gold embroidery all over the bodice and around the hem and cuffs.

  “Such fabric,” Jean said almost reverently. “It isn’t even crushed!”

  “That’s good silk for you,” Marianne said with a nod. “I’d forgotten how beautiful this was.” Fingering the sleeve, she asked, “Shall I wear it tonight, do you think?”

  “Oh, yes!” Jean cried enthusiastically. “I cannot imagine any colour better suited to you, my lady; you will be the focus of all eyes!”

  “You flatter me, but I am also convinced.” Marianne hesitated before saying, “I know you already helped me dress once today, Jean, but now that my better gowns are here I believe I should like to change out of the one I am wearing. I’ve been rotating the same two gowns for almost a fortnight now.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Reverently laying the emerald silk on the bed, Jean hurried into the dressing room, where the other two maids were still unpacking trunks and hanging gowns. “How about this one, my lady?”

  The gown was wool instead of silk, but a fine, soft lambswool dyed to a lovely shade of gentian blue-violet. Beautifully cut, Marianne recalled it to be both warm and comfortable to wear.

  “Perfect,” she said, pleased by Jean’s choice, and stood still to let her maid help with her buttons.

  Changed into a fine gown, Marianne began to feel a little of her old confidence returning. She had always moved with ease among the highest of high society, she recalled, uncaring of what any of them thought of her. Their opinions had no power to harm her, after all, and facing very real threats every day of her marriage had inured her to petty insult. Her apparent fearlessness had made her surprisingly popular among the highest sticklers including the patronesses at Almack’s.

  Recalling how she had faced down a Russian princess and any number of duchesses, countesses, and more without f
ear made Marianne smile as she smoothed her hands over her skirts. Her fine gowns were just as much armour as any medieval knight’s plate and shield.

  “Oh, you’ve something in your pocket, my lady.” Jean held out the folded sheets of paper she’d discovered in the pocket of the discarded gown. “Would you like them with you, or should I put them in the writing-desk?”

  Thinking she should write a letter to Diana thanking her and telling her the expected date of the Havers party’s arrival in London, Marianne nodded. “In the writing-desk, thank you, Jean.”

  “Very good, my lady. What shoes will you wear?”

  “Oh, these slippers will be fine.” Marianne glanced down at the tan kidskin slippers she had been wearing all morning. Jean looked a little disapproving, but Marianne was unmoved. She’d brought those slippers with her because they were her favourites, snug and comfortable on her feet. It wasn’t as though anyone would see more than the tips of her toes below her gown’s long skirt.

  Garbed in a fresh, high-quality gown, Marianne studied herself in the mirror. No more hiding out in my room, she decided. Now that she had made her peace with Alexander, there was nobody else whose opinion she cared for - save Thomas and Ellen, of course, but she already knew she had their loyal support.

  “I’m going down to join the rest of the company, Jean,” she advised the maid, who was putting her letters in the pretty little writing-desk by one of the windows.

  “Very good, my lady. I’ll make sure Anne and Polly put all your things away just so.” Jean puffed up a little with pride. “We’ll spend the afternoon pressing wrinkles out of everything.”

  “You needn’t do it all in one day,” Marianne said, amused and touched by Jean’s dedication. “Have the emerald silk ready for tonight and select another day dress for tomorrow, and the rest can wait.”

  “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today, my ma always says,” Jean answered with a smile. “You just leave it all to me, my lady.”

  Shaking her head, Marianne left Jean to her work and headed back downstairs. Arriving in the front hall as Ellen came out of the front parlour, she smiled at her friend. “I do apologise for abandoning you!”